


troubled spirits on my chest

by defcontwo



Category: Captain America, Marvel (Comics), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Invaders 4 Lyfe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've really made a mess of things, haven't you, Buck." post-Winter Soldier 15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	troubled spirits on my chest

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Winter Soldier. Exorcising my problems with the entire premise and arc, really.

"I should burn your fucking apartment down." 

The front door slams shut with a bang loud enough to rattle and Bucky winces, lifting his head up from the pillow, where he's been lying prone on his bed ever since he got back from his latest mission with Fury. 

Rapid fire footsteps thunder in his general direction and Bucky wonders idly if maybe he should be armed for this. 

In the dim light, Bucky sees a figure framed in the doorway. Even if he hadn't already recognized the voice, a voice that he would know anywhere, the smoke outlining the other man gives him away. 

A step closer and he can make out that familiar dark, curly head of hair. 

"Hey, Tom." 

"You goddamn chump." 

"You're, uh. Are you aware that you're burning up." 

"It's harder to control when I'm angry, you know that." 

Bucky slumps his head back down into the pillow and feigns interest in the ceiling. The weight of Tom's anger feels heavy, the air thick with dust and things unsaid. 

"Who told you?" 

"Fury," Tom says, voice short. 

Bucky hates himself that little bit more in that moment because he remembers the days when even in the middle of the living hell that was war, Tom was the one who could always be counted on to keep spirits up, ever the optimist. That Tom is nowhere to be seen now and he can't help but blame himself a little bit for it. 

He'll add that one to the list. 

"That old bastard of a hypocrite, after all of the lectures he's been giving me about secrecy." 

Tom snorts. "That's how you know you've lost the plot, buddy. Nick Fury thinks you're so screwed in the head that he'll sacrifice his precious secrets to shake things up." 

"How much did he - "

"I know about Natasha." 

Tom flicks on the light switch and Bucky blinks at the sudden flood of brightness. He doesn't have to look to know that Tom is taking in the general state of despair that is his apartment and finding it wanting. 

It's not that it's messy. He could never bring himself to fall out of routine - he'll keep his things Army neat until the day he dies. But the room is sparse and bare of personal items - the only thing out of place is the half empty vodka bottle on the nightstand.

Tom sighs, loud and annoyed, and Bucky knows that that's the precise moment when the fight's gone out of him, knows it as if he could see the very anger bleeding out of Tom. He's always been predictable in that way. Tom runs hot, every pun intended, but it never lasts long, especially not with Bucky. 

"You've really made a mess of things, haven't you, Buck." 

"Yup." 

The bed dips and Bucky can feel the heat emanating from where Tom has settled on the edge of the bed. "She's going to know. You do realize that, right? Memory loss like that, it itches at you after a while, like the worst case of deja vu. She'll piece it together eventually and then she'll find you and kick your ass and you'll deserve every hit." 

"You don't know that." 

Tom favors him with a look that says pretty clearly: _you're a moron, Jim Barnes,_ but he lets it go, sitting in silence for a few minutes. 

He starts shifting after a while though, always the antsy one, like he's got something to say. Bucky already knows that this isn't a conversation he's going to enjoy. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tom asks and his voice is going for nonchalant but misses the mark by a mile. 

He sounds young and vulnerable, calling to mind an image unbidden of Tom the first time he had to kill a man in action and Bucky had had to rub his back while he threw up into the bushes after. 

"There were ghosts in my past that needed taking care of. I didn't. It was easier, letting people believe that I was dead. Less chance of people getting hurt." Bucky pauses. "Didn't really work out that way, though." 

"What, you thought you'd minimize the damage? Buck, that's what you have friends for. People to call on, people who will be there for you when it all goes to hell. _You're_ the one who taught me that."

"Look, I know I've been an idiot - " 

"Idiot might actually be putting it a little lightly," Tom interrupts. 

"Would you cut it out already? I know, Toro, _I know_ ," Bucky says, exasperated. He cranes his neck to look up and sees that Tom is grinning, his amusement made up of more relief than mockery. 

"There _he_ is," Tom says. "I knew my friend had to be hiding somewhere underneath all of that self-pity." 

Bucky rolls his eyes and leans over to punch Tom in the thigh. 

" _Ouch_ , not with the metal arm, Barnes," Tom says, and in that moment, he is all childish petulance. 

Bucky laughs. "You have no idea how good it is to see you, firebug." 

"Yeah, you too, asshole."

**Author's Note:**

> It's entirely possible that I'm planning companion piece/remixes of this with Sam and Sharon.


End file.
